Charlotte said nothing. She simply gazed in silence at the fragrant baked pasta, topped with creamy meat sauce. In her gray-blue eyes, there was clear confusion and bewilderment.
"Why?"
Charlotte glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who was untying her apron, and the question slipped from her lips.
"I think I saw you slicing ham for lunch?"
"Oh, that."
Mrs. Hudson placed some bread on the table, utterly unaware she had just determined the outcome of their wager.
"I was going to make sandwiches, but just before everyone came home, Russell suddenly said he wanted baked pasta with creamy meat sauce."
She spoke while shooting an affectionate smile at Russell.
"We've eaten so many sandwiches this week, I thought I'd try something different."
Charlotte, having finished speaking, quickly looked up at Russell.
Russell met her gaze, only shrugging in response.
"I never said I couldn't do it, did I? Of course, if you refuse, I won't insist."
"…"
Charlotte stayed quiet for a while, then took a deep breath, pulled up a chair, and sat down.
"I never said I was refusing."
She picked up her fork, twirled the noodles coated in meat and cream sauce, and, as she took a bite, muttered under her breath.
"It's just for one day, isn't it? No need to make a big fuss."
Russell smiled faintly, drew out a chair, and sat down as well.
Dinner ended on a peaceful, relaxed note.
After dinner, Charlotte got up and returned to her own room. Russell helped Mrs. Hudson wash the dishes, then went up to his room too.
As the night grew late, the clock's hands slowly pointed toward rest.
Russell changed clothes, stepped out the window, and disappeared into the darkness of Baker Street.
…
The next day, Russell, who had spent the whole night out on good deeds, forcibly silenced his alarm, dragged himself out of bed, and shuffled slowly downstairs.
At the table sat someone both familiar and unfamiliar, nibbling on buttered toast and drinking coffee. Charlotte noticed Russell's arrival and casually glanced in his direction.
"If you hadn't shown up within two more minutes, I would've called off yesterday's bet."
"Looks like you woke up just in time."
Russell smiled, pulled out a chair, and sat.
He glanced at Charlotte and asked,
"Where's the textbook?"
"You seriously think I'm going to class?"
Charlotte shot him a contemptuous look.
"The mere fact that I sat in class for more than five minutes is already worthy of respect."
"All right, all right."
Russell shrugged, not pressing the issue.
"I'll leave after I finish my coffee."
"Hmm."
After replying, Charlotte turned her gaze to the day's paper.
The headlines, once again, were dominated by Moriarty. Aside from the eye-catching countdown, there were only a handful of trivial stories.
For instance, some ladies had offered to buy signed cards from victims protected by Moriarty. Their motive was simple—just to chase after a celebrity.
Russell glanced at it with mild interest. Depending on the messaging, his own card could sell for ten pounds or even more. Stranger still, some people collected the little cards he scribbled on as keepsakes.
Among those wealthy enough to collect art, when visited briefly by Russell, he'd take a few items but always return them right away. As for someone like Ethan Roy, whose reputation was in shambles, he'd have taken a much harsher blow—he likely couldn't even afford to keep his own possessions anymore.
After breakfast, Russell led Charlotte out from Baker Street, and they rode the tram toward Imperial College.
When Charlotte arrived at the lecture hall, the entire room fell dead silent.
Everyone stared in disbelief at the figure sitting at the back row—it was obvious they weren't like the other students.
If Mary's presence was a defining trait of Imperial College London…
Then, Charlotte was truly the one at the cutting edge.
Charlotte ignored the stares and sat directly in the farthest seat by the wall.
Russell sat next to her, yawned, and slumped heavily onto the table.
"Is this what you do every day at Imperial College?"
Charlotte looked at Russell.
"If so, why not sign up for a free repair service?"
"I'd like to, but I don't have the qualifications to apply for course exemption," Russell replied vaguely.
"So, what should I do now? Lie down like you?"
"You can do whatever you want. The bet was just for you to attend class for one day. The rest is just waiting—waiting for school to end, waiting for Godot."
Charlotte was briefly speechless. She suddenly felt the urge to just get up and leave.
Just then, footsteps sounded behind them, and a faint scent of white tea drifted over.
Charlotte turned her head toward the sound and met a pair of blue eyes.
The girl barely paused—a flicker of surprise crossed her usually smiling blue eyes, but she quickly masked it with curiosity and a keen, observant look.
She strode over to the now-stared-at seat and, with her usual poise, sat down next to Russell.
"Good morning, Russell."
Her greeting was calm, as if the formidable presence beside her simply didn't exist.
"Morning, Mary,"
Russell replied, lifting his sleepy eyes.
Mary shifted her gaze to the other side, a flawless, elegant Miss Morstan smile on her lips.
"Good morning, Charlotte."
There was a subtle pause, her tone carrying just the right mixture of surprise and curiosity.
"Morning,"
Charlotte replied, feeling that Mary's presence helped dispel some of the boredom.
"Didn't Russell say you'd already been exempted from this class?"
Mary asked, eyes full of curiosity.
"I wanted to see what this person does at school every day, so I tailed him,"
Charlotte replied with her usual blank expression.
Mary raised her eyebrows, sensing there might be more to it, but wisely didn't press.
"By the way," she lowered her voice, "I heard from Russell that there's more to the Lloyds Bank case than it seems, right?"
"The Professor,"
Charlotte said openly. "He's a legendary figure in London's underworld, but so far, we haven't found any leads on him."
"Is there still no improvement in the prisoner who went mad from terror?"
Mary asked.
"Unfortunately, no."
Charlotte shook her head. "To be honest, I've already given up hope for that maniac. Even if he recovers, he'll just end up drooling for that guy again."
Mary let out a quiet sigh of relief, then changed the subject.
"By the way, what do you think of the letter about Moriarty in today's paper?"
As soon as she finished, Russell, wedged between the two, tensed ever so slightly.
Huh, are you thinking about me?
…